He attached the makeshift fin. It was ugly, lopsided, and probably aerodynamically unsound. But the dragon’s wings rustled. Its tail gave a tentative flick. And for the first time, the creature’s massive eye softened into something that looked almost like hope.

He worked quickly, heart hammering. He traced the dragon’s good fin on a sheet of cardboard, transferred the shape to the cutting board, sawed it out with a kitchen knife. The dragon watched him, trembling. When Leo approached with the duct tape, it didn't lash out. It just lowered its head, as if it understood.

82%.

On screen, the torrent client ticked upward: 14%... 15%...

It crashed through the threshold of the closet and landed on his floor in a tangle of obsidian scales and leathery wings, sending his desk chair skidding into the wall. The creature was smaller than the movie version—maybe the size of a Great Dane—but its presence was colossal. It opened one huge, green, intelligent eye and fixed Leo with a look of pure, uncomprehending terror.

It wasn’t in the file—not yet. It was in the air. His cramped apartment above the laundromat suddenly smelled of salt spray and dragon musk, a wild, untamed scent that didn’t belong among the dryer sheets and mildew. He rubbed his eyes. Three nights of insomnia and one too many energy drinks were probably to blame.

The closet sky was beginning to fade, the stars winking out one by one. The dragon turned toward it, then back at Leo. It nudged his hand—a rough, scaly, surprisingly gentle push.

Below him, an ocean he didn’t recognize. Above him, islands that existed only in animation cells. And ahead, just visible on a rocky shoreline, a boy with a smudge of ash on his cheek and a prosthetic leg, staring upward in disbelief.